Chemotherapy
The first fluid they drain into you
Has color of wine
And they call it the red-devil
The second glitters like glycerine
And drips like tear
In merciless silence
The matron looks at you
For a while
As if she is gazing at the skyline
Through a window glass
And walks away
Like a cloud in a dream
Halfway to her station
Across the pale marble floor
She turns back and looks at me
As if she wants to tell me
I'm standing in a cemetery
And she is the echo of eulogies
You sleep like a weaned baby
Your eyes move nervously
Underneath closed eyelids
Haunted by ghosts
From the land of dead hairs
I suppose so helplessly
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